Scales
by global mullu
Summary: Your bad decisions have brought you here. You're a monster. The end is near. A story about facing life with no easy way to fix it, set in the universe of I Am Become Death. Mattmo.
1. Scales

Matt visits Mohinder.

**Author's note:** This was written ages ago, when it made sense to write it. I think it was my first Heroes fic (and one of the few), which is funny, because I absolutely hate season 3. (and yet... maybe that's exactly why I had to write it). It's not exactly a fic, but a series of one-shots (three, if I stick to the plan).

* * *

><p><strong>Scales<strong>

He's doesn't know what he's doing there (he is not sure he wants to know).

He's pretty sure this wasn't his intention when he left the apartment, and doesn't think he consciously chose the way. He's not sure he wants to get in, either.

There's a package of cigarettes in the left pocket of his jacket (and when did he start smoking again?). He finishes one slowly, drag after long drag, his back against the door.

_Go away._

The voice is clear, familiar; so familiar that for a second he can't help but close his eyes and be back at the kitchen counter, Molly laughing on a stool, Mohinder (all messy curls and blue apron) mockingly throwing them out because they 'never let him work'. His heart feels heavier than it had in months.

_Go away._

He makes up his mind, and takes a deep breath.

The door makes a rusted noise. The lab is dark, all the blinds down, the lights and noise of the city left out (a vague memory of foreign lives). The air carries a moldy scent; dampness, dust and abandonment. _And also…_ it's there, too, hidden by dust. Not the same scent, not exactly… but it's there.

"Mohinder?"

_Go away. Don't find me._

"Mohinder… I know you're here. I can hear you."

A stab of foreign panic and something hides behind the shelves.

_Don't hear me. Just go. Don't listen. Don't see me._

Matt doubts for a second. It may be better this way. What's he doing here, anyway? Doesn't he have a family waiting at home? A wonderful daughter and a girlfriend? What is he doing here?

But there must be an answer to that question, because he can't manage to turn around and get through the door.

When he takes notice, he's sitting at the top of the stairs.

_Why don't you leave, Matt? Why are you here?_

Mohinder's thoughts are hardly encouraging. They go from aggressive to anguish, begging a bit sometimes (_go away, please, don't be here_). But they all come wrapped in that voice, familiar and distant, and soon it's like it was before, a comfortable rhythm that makes him feel at home, the background music of his day-to-day (the constant movement of Mohinder's mind, coming and going, like the waves at the beaches of California). Even under the present circumstances he holds tight to that music, while his eyes adjust to the darkness and the weight of the past two years sets in his memory.

"Go away."

The voice is not the same. Turned into real sound, it's not the same. There's something scratchy at the bottom, something not quite human.

Still, when Matt turns to the source of that new voice, he can make the clearly human shape in the shadows. And something else. Something that hits him in the gut and freezes his lungs. Behind the shelf, barely visible in the shadows (yet undeniable), he can see Mohinder's eyes for the first time in over two years.

Is that why he's here?

"Daphne is pregnant," he says, all of a sudden.

Yeah, that could be it. Maybe that's why he's here. To say it out loud, looking into those eyes.

"We're getting married," he says, because the music has stopped abruptly, and he misses it.

Even if it's this hurt, confused music. Chaotic and violent.

_And I suppose you'll take the bitch to my house._

"Be careful with your words." The black eyes hide behind the shelves. "And no. Of course not. We're looking for a place."

The music becomes faster, urgent. Matt knows this melody.

"Stay."

"What?"

"Stay… please." There's something about this non-Mohinder voice when it softens. Something painfully familiar. "The fact that you and Molly live at my place is the only link I keep with you."

_I need that link, Matt. I need to remember I had all that once._

"This is…" Matt sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "You haven't changed as much as you think. It's always like this, isn't it? This is all about you."

"Matt…"

"Do you think it's easy for us to live there? That Molly doesn't spend hours making comparisons? That she doesn't miss you?" _That I don't? "_Had it even occurred to you that we're moving for our own mental sake?"

"Matt…"

"No, of course not. Because it is important to _you_ to keep that link. Because _you_ need us to stay in _your_ place."

"Matt…" _Please, understand._ _You and Molly are all that's left from me._ _The one thing to remind me that I was human_.

_And whose fault is that, exactly?_ Matt thinks, but he bites his tongue.

"You're human, Mohinder… Maybe too human."

He thinks he catches a reflection of those eyes. But it only lasts a second, and then the shadows are back.

"Stay…" _Even if that bitch has to sleep in my bed._

Enough.

"Stop calling her that. Her name is Daphne, and she's going to be my wife. And as far as I remember, Mohinder, I wasn't the first to take a strange woman to our house." _Where did that come from? A strange woman? To our house?_ It has to be the gayest thing he's said in his life.

Maybe that's it. Maybe that's why he's here. To finally say the things he didn't say in time.

Mohinder doesn't seem to mind when he uses his favorite excuse. Matt had almost forgotten.

"It's different."

"It's different? Wow, that's an original answer."

Mohinder never seemed to mind that they fought like an old marriage.

"I… wasn't myself… then." _It's the formula. It turns me into this. I can't control it._

"You can't control it?" Matt laughs.

**Come out**, he commands. And Mohinder resists desperately, but comes out.

**Closer**. And Mohinder becomes visible, thin like wire, covered by an old jean and a gray hooded sweatshirt.

"You can't control it?"

**Take off the hood.**

Mohinder fights (_please… Matt…. don't do this_), but Matt repeats the order, and the hood falls back.

It's like he suspected. Like that scratchy voice. It's Mohinder and it's not, at the same time. It's his eyes, and his lips, and the bridge of his nose. But it's not his skin (and somehow, it's not his eyes, or his lips, or the bridge of his nose). It's rough, crackled, violet-lips, dark-scaled Mohinder. There's something terribly wrong with his hands. But it's Mohinder right there, deep inside, almost rising to the surface.

Matt touches the scales with his fingertips. They're softer than he expected. He misses the skin he never got to touch.

Sadness hits him like a hammer.

"This thing I can do… this 'ability'… it's a part of me, you know? It's always there." He traces the shape of those eyes with his fingers. "And it's hard not to get lost in that feeling of 'power'." There's something dark in Matt's voice, and Mohinder wonders what kind of tests he's been through in these years, what kind of demons he's had to face. "With the smallest effort, I could dig all your secrets. Make you to do whatever I want. Make you think you're the one who wants it." There's something dangerous in Matt's voice, as he slowly traces the line of Mohinder's cheekbone. "Not just you. Anyone. Everyone." He closes his eyes and breathes. "Do you think it's not hard to control? But I have to. Every day. For Molly, sure. And Daphne. But for myself, too.

_And for you… for you, too._

When Matt first met him, Mohinder was this brilliant, gorgeous, graceful, exotic guy, who used expressions like 'fascinating' and was constantly thinking of stuff beyond human understanding. When Matt first met him, Mohinder was the definition of 'out of his league'. Of course, back then it didn't matter. Back then the only thing that mattered was Janice, and maybe someday some other woman (though Matt didn't feel like thinking about that, yet). Surely not his very male roomate, as perfect as his smile was, or that defiant glint in his eyes, or that way he had of being an arrogant jerk without really thinking less of anyone.

He slides his hand around the neck, where the scales are softer and more uniform.

The first thing he noticed, a few weeks after moving, was the absurd amount of details he knew about Mohinder. Stuff he didn't notice about other men (or women, if he must be honest). It was then that he started suspecting why he got so edgy in Mohinder's presence and why, for the first time, he had labeled a man as "out of his league".

He runs a thumb over the scratchy cheeks.

That man is gone, of course. In his place stands this thing, that is and isn't Mohinder. The blues of arrogance. The reason for parents to ground their children 'so they learn their actions have consequences'. The skin, the pose, the halo of perfection, are gone. And yet, when Matt moves towards those dark lips, the eyes fixed on his are unmistakable.

This is why.

This is why he's here (this is why he never planned to come).

They had so many chances… So many long nights, face to face, arguing in rushed whispers about Molly's nightmares. So many awkward meetings in front of the mirror, at the bathroom door. So many laughs shared by the kitchen counter. So many knowing glances. So many furious arguments, yelling, inches from one another…

There were so many ways in which this could have happened. Now he gets it. _Getting to the party when everyone has left. Classic, Parkman_, he thinks, and closes the distance anyway.

It's not a passionate kiss, but Matt can't remember one more intense. All those fears and insecurities, all those regrets (and even hope, hiding in the back), all those emotions rising to the surface. A kiss that leaves them exposed and naked. A kiss that breaks them in little pieces.

They separate, finally. All ragged breaths and shiny eyes.

"Y-You… kissed me."

The voice seems less scratchy. It's strange to see him turned into this non-Mohinder, and yet feel him for real for the first time.

"I kissed you." Is he telling Mohinder, or is he telling himself?

A barely human hand rises towards Matt's face, but drops before reaching it (there's something terribly, terribly wrong with those hands). Matt catches it, mid-fall.

"I don't mind."

When Matt first met him, Mohinder was out of his league. And now that the world has been turned upside down, now that Matt has a power he never imagined and Mohinder hides in the shadows… Now he gets it. That if that skin was ever perfect (smooth spices from a fairy tale land) it was because it was Mohinder's skin, and not the other way around. That under the scales, the darkness and the poison in his blood, lies Mohinder. That's what matters. That's what he cares about.

"You don't need to hide. Not from me. Never from me."

They stand there, facing each other. Matt refuses to overthink this, and instead let's himself get wrapped in Mohinder's reflexions, coming and going, a steady rhythm at the shores of his mind.

It's one thing to know the terrible things someone has done. It's another thing completely to relive them in the music of their thoughts. Mohinder starts a guilt trip and Matt can feel the bile rising to his throat. He resists the urge and breathes. He knows about the things Mohinder's done in these years. He also knows about the things he has almost done himself.

Good sinners believe in redemption.

"You don't have to live like this. You just need to learn to control it."

"I can't…" _It's stronger than me._

"Well, that's how this is." _Welcome to the other side. Didn't you want to play with the cool guys? "_It's not easy, but we all have to do it. You got a tough one… you'll just have to try harder."

"It's different… it's synthetic…"

_It's different._

Matt takes a deep breath and lets the air out slowly. He knows the end of this conversation.

Mohinder was always weak. The first to take in a lonely child, and the first to go on a world tour, running from the day-to-day responsibilities of child care. The first to raise a hand and volunteer to destroy the Company, and the first to doubt the plan and turn around mid-way. Always the first to get excited with a new idea. Always the first to give up.

It's what happens when you get used to get everything right on the first try, Matt guesses.

"I think I should go home."

"Are you going to…?"

"We're staying."

"Thank you." It's barely a whisper. And there he is again (deeply rooted to the darkest pits of Matt's mind), all shiny eyes and perfect smile, drinking tea by the window on a bright Sunday morning.

When Matt first realized what was happening, the fact that Mohinder was a man presented a big problem. He's not sure when that changed, but it doesn't matter anymore. He doesn't care that Mohinder is a man. He doesn't care that he's done terrible things. He doesn't care that he's grown scales.

But gender, past deeds and scales were never the problem, were they?

Matt nods and turns around. His eyes itch and the air hurts in that damned place. Mohinder doesn't look for his eyes. Doesn't try to stop him. _Never tries_.

Before closing the door, Matt turns around one more time. There's no trace of the dark curls or the tired body. They're back in their hiding spot in the shadows.

He closes the door and walks home.


	2. Reality and other demons

Molly's powers are expanding in unexpected ways (and time-travelers delude themselves). Set a few months after the events in "I Am Become Death". Originally written for the prompt "Molly - Laplace's Demon" at some Heroes Fest, though it drifted quite a bit from the original idea.

* * *

><p><strong>Reality and other demons<strong>

She didn't think she remembered the way, after all this time.

Maybe she doesn't. Maybe she's just thinking about him and her instincts guide her. After all, she has long suspected that the names of the streets, the numbers on the doors, the common references (by the pharmacy, across the park) are mere details of the visualization, so that others can understand. She needs nothing but the memory of light laughter at the dinner table, a melody of foreign words by her pillow, and his presence becomes a magnet.

She remembers the glass door. The lock is broken (how she knows this is a mystery, even to her) so it's a turn and a push, and she walks in, fearless.

"Hi, Mohinder," she says, eyes fixed on the far shelves across the room.

Silence.

"It's me, Molly," she says, walking closer. Maybe he can't recognize her. It's been four years, after all. She's not a child anymore.

Silence.

"Mohinder... I know where you are."

A heavy sigh in the shadows.

"I know. Molly... Please, don't come closer. I don't want you to see me like this."

Molly rolls her eyes. _Let's protect the kid from the monster. Typical_. Yet, a quick glance around the lab (dirty, abandoned, heavy with dust and spider webs) as her eyes adjust to the darkness, makes her think maybe she doesn't want to be there anyway.

"Ok. I just... I just wanted your help with something." She leaves some papers by the stairs. "Check these out if you can."

Before closing the door, she speaks to the dusty air.

"I see you 'like this' everyday. So that you know. Clairvoyance, remember?"

* * *

><p>"You sure you're ok? You were awfully quiet at dinner."<p>

"I'm fine. Just tired," she says and yawns widely. "It's been a long day." It's been a long year.

"I don't think I've ever seen you go to bed on your own account before midnight."

"And didn't you use to complain about that? There's no win with you," she claims, shaking her head. Matt laughs.

"Ok. But... you know I'm here if you need to talk, right? About anything. It's fine."

"Matt... if something was wrong, don't you think you'd be the first to know?" she says, touching her forehead.

"Hey! I'm very careful with your privacy."

"Yeah, right." And there's the trademark eye roll. Matt's become quite familiar with it since puberty attacked.

"I am."

"Ok, ok, I believe you. _And _I'll tell you if something's wrong. Can I please sleep now?"

"Sure. Goodnight, princess."

"Goodnight, Matt."

A kiss on her forehead and the lights go off. Molly waits in the dark until Matt and Daniella are asleep. Then she gets up, very careful not to make a sound, and opens the window.

"Hi," she whispers into the night.

"Hello," Mohinder whispers back.

It's not the same to see him like this, face to face, solid and real. He's quite impressive, even covered with the gray hood. But also... he's Mohinder. Even like this, stuck to the wall like a bug, head slightly angled in attention. He's still Mohinder.

"We can't talk here," she tells him.

_Still Mohinder, still Mohinder_, she tells herself.

He nods and sits on the windowsill, his back to her.

"Hold tight," he says, with that scratchy voice that isn't quite his.

It's a surreal scene. Molly can't remember getting a piggy-back ride since she was five (and surely never from Matt or Mohinder), yet, somehow it feels like an old memory. At the same time, it feels like climbing a wall on a giant bug. Like she's stuck in a very bad sci-fi film.

Surreal doesn't begin to describe it.

They reach the roof and Mohinder puts her down.

"Are you ok? Are you cold?"

"A bit." A lot.

The strange shape disappears down the wall with non-human movements, to emerge a few seconds later carrying a blanket that he wraps around Molly.

_Still Mohinder. Still Mohinder._

"Better?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

They sit on the roof, facing each other. He wears one of those thick fabric bags that he loved to carry around, full of books and notes. Sitting like this, still and quiet, covered by the night and the gray hood, the illusion is almost satisfactory.

They look at each other for a long time.

"I had a thing for you," says Molly, out of the blue.

"What?"

"When I first met you, at the lab. I had a thing for you. Nothing big, you know. Just a child's crush."

"A child's crush?" he asks, amused (_and what are you supposed to be now?). _It's good to know he still can be amused.

"Yeah. A _child's_ crush," she answers with a defiant tone (_can't you see how much I've grown?_). "I had grown over it by the time we moved here. Then I started liking the idea of Matt better."

"You had a thing for Matt?" The amused edge hasn't left his voice, and it's almost as if the pain of these past years could be dissolved by the sheer force of thetwoofthemtogether.

"Not for me, silly. For you."

"For me? Matt?"

"A girl can dream," she says with a shrug.

A thousand and five emotions twist inside Mohinder's chest. Regret. Hope. Guilt. Sadness. Pride that his little girl was always smarter than him. Grateful joy for this moment, even if he never gets another one.

"How is him?"

"He's holding on... you know about Daphne?"

"Yes, I heard something."

"Yeah... she was nice." _She wasn't you, though_. She'd like to say it. She'd like to say a lot of things. Is she betraying Mohinder by missing Daphne? Is she betraying Daphne by not telling Mohinder? "I miss her a lot," she says, finally. "But Matt misses her more. He keeps trying to be strong for me... but I don't know."

She's right there. Shattering. His little child. He would like to do something. Hold her, comfort her, tuck her to bed and sing lullabies.

But he can't do any of those things anymore, can he?

So instead, he clears his throat and takes some papers out of the bag. The ones Molly left for him.

"Would you like to talk about these?"

"Do I need to?"

At first sight, the connection isn't clear. Some physics and probabilities study sheets. A news scrap about the arrest of some guy that never loses at the casino (they suspect he may be using powers, but the new game regulations are not clear on the penalty deserved). Some pamphlet about reality and what we take for reality. A couple internet articles on nanotechnology, supercomputers and string theory. An imprint from Wikipedia:

_"Laplace's demon is a hypothetical 'demon' envisioned in 1814 by Pierre-Simon Laplace such that if it knew the precise location and momentum of every atom in the universe then it could use Newton's laws to reveal the entire course of cosmic events, past and future."_

Those were the first lines to catch Mohinder's attention.

"Every atom in the universe?"

"Not yet. I don't think so."

Not _yet_.

"I thought you could only sense living human beings."

"That's because I could only sense living human beings."

"When...?"

"I don't know... a couple of years ago."

"Around the time Matt got married?"

"Yeah... I think so."

He nods. It makes sense. Emotionally intense moments. Strong feelings. Adrenaline. The moments that catalyze the manifestation of a power can also signify great jumps in its evolution.

"But it wasn't the same. At the beginning it was just stuff."

"What do you mean?"

"Stuff. Like... your laptop," she closes her eyes. "It's in a dumpster. You broke it?"

"About a year ago. You can sense it? See it?"

"I'm not sure. The difference is not that clear anymore."

"Mmhm..." The gears turn and the old need starts itching in his veins. So there's still scientific curiosity in him, after all. It's good to know. "So, you say this was the beginning. What happened later?"

"A couple of months ago..." _When Daphne died_. "Well... You know about electrons, and how they can't be spotted?"

"Because they're probably not matter, but waves, like light. Yes."

"I read..." she picks the pamphlet out of the stack. "I read some scientists think that you can't spot them because most of the time they're not here."

"Yes, I've heard that theory, but..."

"They're right."

Mohinder raises an eyebrown, though it remains hidden by the gray hood. He's about to have an argument about theoretical physics with a thirteen year old. His thirteen year old. He can't help the wave of (so very underserved) pride. Also, he's sure she didn't pick that 'pay attention because I know so much more about this than you' attitude from Matt. Or Daphne.

"What makes you so sure about it?"

"I can feel them. When they're here, and when they're somewhere else."

"Somewhere else?"

She sighs.

"Do you know what the multiverse is?"

"What?"

"The multiverse. Infinite Crisis, Batman, the What If series...? You know them, you lived with Matt, too."

The multiverse...

"Are we talking about parallel dimensions?"

There's that smug look in her eyes again. That look that he's only seen before in front of a mirror. How is that even possible? It's been four years. They've been apart eight times longer than they lived together.

_I see you 'like this' everyday_.

Has she really been looking for him? Every day? Has she seen him... No. This is not the time for a guilt trip. He's here for Molly, not himself.

"Anyway," she goes on, "what they say is that every time something happens, the timeline divides, creating parallel dimensions. One in which it happened and one in which it didn't."

"I'm familiar with that theory, yes." It's a bit more complicated than that, actually. But it's still not a terribly inaccurate explanation.

"Well... In the end, there's not a time_line_, but some sort of a time_net_, containing all timelines, all possible universes."

"The multiverse," he says. She nods. "So when the electrons are not here..."

"It's because they're at some other universe."

"And you know this, because..."

"I can feel them, here and there."

Mohinder takes a few moments to process this. He's seen so much in these past years. So many unbelievable things. Yet this...

"I don't only know where you are, here with me," her voice is very quiet now, almost a whisper. "I know all the places you would be, had life been different."

He watches her intently, but she doesn't look back. Instead, her eyes close in concentration.

"You're at the lab, working. But you're healthy. You keep checking the watch. I guess you're late for something." She opens her eyes, takes a deep breath and closes them again. "You're in India, having dinner with your parents. There's a woman teasing you. I've seen her before. I think it's Shanti." And again. "You're sleeping in Matt's bed. I guess it's your bed, too. You're both naked under the covers."

"Molly..."

"But my room's gone. I don't think I live there."

Her eyes open slowly.

"Molly, stop."

And close again.

"You're locked in a concrete cell, yelling and hitting the windows. Your face..." her voice wavers. She takes a deep breath and goes on. "There's a 5 printed on the wall."

"Molly." He grabs her by the shoulders. "Stop."

But she drifts again.

"We're in the living room. Matt, you and me. We're watching a... vampire movie?" She smiles weakly. "Matt pretends to attack me, fangs and all." Her smile widens. "You laugh so hard you drop the pop corn. It's an awful lot of pop corn."

She opens her eyes open and tries to fix them on Mohinder, who is and is not the man that laughs in the couch, that works endlessly against the clock, that launches against the walls of a Level 5 cell (scaled face contorted in rage), that sleeps peacefully by Matt's side, that looks at her worried under the gray hood.

"Sorry. I never stop until I find one in which we're happy. It's my thing."

"Molly..." Mohinder's voice breaks. What can he say, anyway?

"I can't see more than a few seconds. Like a moving picture... like on Harry Potter, remember? I get an idea of what's going on, but I have no clue on how it happened or what's going to happen next. Like a slide show of holidays I never took."

"I see."

"At least, that was all it was, until I found out about 'Laplace's demon'."

He watches her silently for a moment. This is a bit too much.

"Past, present and future of the universe?"

"Of the multiverse, actually. I mean, there are zillions of different universes, all possible, all so real... and if I get to see all the atoms of one single moment, given the maths and the equations and all those things... Could I predict what's going to happen next? What happened to get to that point?"

"Well, theoretically..." he sighs. "I don't know, Molly. There's the whole theory of chaos... but also... physics has made incredible discoveries lately..." he drifts, eyeing the papers spread on the roof. "It's possible, I guess."

She nods.

"So... Matt and Daphne talked a lot about Peter Petrelli messing with time... and I kept thinking..."

"That if you could draw the blueprints of time and space, you could know exactly where to send a time traveler, and what to change."

It doesn't sound like a bad plan, he has to admit. There are so many things he'd change, if he knew how. Yet...

"Time is tricky, Molly. Things could go awfully wrong."

"It's ok. I'm not sure it matters that much."

There's something sad and resigned in her voice. Something way too grown up. _What has Molly been through?_Mohinder asks himself. So very young to be carrying the responsibility of the present on her shoulders. So young to be conscious of the life they could have had, had their decisions been different.

"Of course it matters."

"No... I mean I'm really not sure. I mean, all these universes I see, they're all real. They _all_ exist." There's a note of urgency in her voice, some kind of despaired euphoria, and Mohinder realizes this is probably the first time she speaks about this with anyone, the first time she doesn't bite her tongue and keep it all inside. The words blurt out, uncontrollable, like a storm. "Everything has happened. Will happen, is happening, whatever. It's all real. You're locked in that cell, and you're tugging me in bed, and Sylar killed me, and I got sick and you couldn't save me. It is _all_real. If I go back, if I 'change' the past... I won't be changing anything. I'll only be jumping from one universe to another. I could make the map to the perfect life, find a time traveler, kiss this place goodbye. But you'd still be here, and Matt would still be here, and Daniella would be here, and I'd know, even there. I'd know I left all you guys behind, alone in this place. Am I right? Does it work like that? Is it impossible to truly change the past?"

She suddenly looks like the little girl he remembers saving from the Company facility. Fragile. Vulnerable. Broken.

"Is that what you wanted to ask me?"

She nods.

"I suppose..." It's too much. Too much responsibility for such a little girl. Too much reality. "I suppose it is." But what good would it do to lie to her? She already knows more than anyone should. "If all the universes are real, it is impossible to change reality. A person can jump from one timeline to another, but they don't erase the first line. The net is still there."

He puts a scale covered hand over her smooth ones. It doesn't matter anymore. The way he looks, the things he's done... Molly has seen it all. His best and worst. Sides of him that he himself hasn't faced yet.

"In some universes, I live with my parents. Sylar never found us, I guess." Her voice is smaller now, the 'I know more than you' attitude is gone. "Sometimes I'm dead, sometimes I'm lonely... But there are many combinations of _us_, you know? Like... a lot. What if that's what 'destiny' means? Not something that necessarily happens, but the way things naturally follow? Like some sort of magnet for events." He watches her intently. "What if we were meant to be a family?"

"Molly..."

"Does destiny expire? Does it stop working after a while?"

_God, Molly._

"You know I can't answer that."

It's all real. It has all happened. Peter blew up New York City. The Shanti virus wiped the earth. Sylar killed him. He killed Sylar. His blood couldn't save Molly. He didn't inject poison in his own veins. Time travelers are kidding themselves; the past cannot be changed. He has to admit he's dreamt about it. To go back, one second earlier, and make it all better. To save his soul in time. (Somewhere, in one of Molly's photographs of untaken vacations, he did. He lives with this awesome girl and an incredible man, and they run vampire movie marathons, laughing and stuffing themselves with pop corn all night.)

Does destiny exist? (Could he deserve it, after all he's done?)

"Maybe I can still help you."

"What?"

"There have to be universes in which you found a cure. If I can see further in them, I could figure it out. I could..."

Too much. Too much hope for him. Too much responsibility for her. Too much selfishness on his part. Wasn't that exactly the path that turned him into this?

"Molly, honey... this is not your responsibility. I did this to myself. I'm the one who should deal with..."

"That's a lie," she cuts him. "I have to deal with it, too. Matt has to deal with it. I bet your family in India has to deal with it. This is our problem, too."

He blinks, dumbfounded. 'Family' has become such a foreign term these past years that he never expected that argument.

"And don't tell me you 'should deal with it' if you're not going to. You don't want me involved? Good. Then do something about it yourself. Don't give me that crap about not being able to control it. Don't look at me like that, I've seen you do it. I've also seen you control it. I _know _you can control it."

Can he? Molly says she's seen him. But was that him? Is he really all those men? Are they just versions of him? Is that man watching vampires movies with his family as much a part of him as that other man, who moved across the globe to find the truth about his father's death? Is he even that second man anymore?

"There are universes in which we're happier," Molly says, after a while. "But there are others in which... well, let's just say that from all the possible scenarios, this is not the worst. Depending on where I look, this" she gestures around "feels different. I mean, of course I don't have everything I want... but I appreciate what I have. I know what it'd be like not to have it."

She looks him right in the eye and squeezes his deformed hand. It's pretty obvious she's not saying all that for her own benefit.

"God. When did you grow up this much?"

She gives him a small smile.

"I've seen a lot."

"So..."

"Wait," she jumps. "Matt's up."

Mohinder picks her up with one hand, settles her on his back, and climbs down the wall to the open window. It's the exact same motion, yet it feels completely different.

_Still Mohinder_, Molly thinks, smiling and holding tight.

"Molly..." Matt's voice slips into the room, as she climbs down. "Are you up?"

"Yeah... I was cold," she lies, closing the window.

A slight nod and a fond "goodnight". Outside the window, Mohinder is surprised by a familiar voice inside his head.

_Thanks for coming. It was good for her to see you. She's more relaxed than she's been in weeks._

Of course.

How could he possibly not know?

* * *

><p>Somehow, the lab looks creepier than usual. Dirtier. Darker.<p>

This is his life. There are others, but this is his. It can't be changed. Even if time travelers mess with the past, he will stay here. They can leave. But them alone.

Given the chance of a perfect life, little Molly would choose to stay because others depend on her. What would he chose? Are there others depending on him? Is he letting them down? That very morning he would have said "no".

In some other reality, Molly didn't come to see him. He didn't go to see her. They didn't spoke that night. He never found out that somewhere in the multiverse he chose different paths, before and after the formula.

This is where he stands in the time-space net. He can see a million lines spreading in front of him, waiting for his next step. And each one leads to a different place.

This is who he is. But there are a million people he could have been. And they all live inside his damaged shell.

This is his life. But it doesn't have to be.

There's no point in changing the past. But the future... The future holds possibilities he couldn't have imagined before this night.


End file.
